Life After the Cupcake

It's funny how small gestures and momentos often define grand moments in life.

As a runner, I love to collect medals. They are more than just objects to me; they each have a story or an experience attached to them. For example, I look at the one from a half marathon I ran in late October and remember how cathartic the experience was, running without focus on time and reflecting on turning a corner in the recovery process. I will always associate that medal with my mindset at the time, as though it is somehow cast into the metal and ribbon themselves.

Likewise, a lifetime of memories of my grandmother are wrapped up in a single gold heart-shaped locket, containing two miniscule photographs (one of her on her wedding day, and one of me dressed as a pint-sized princess at Halloween). I wear the locket often and treat it as another piece of jewelry on most days- throwing it in my gym bag after work, untangling the clasp from my hair, sprsying cologne all over it. But when I really think about what it means (the only material thing I now own from her), the locket becomes much more than just a pretty necklace; rather it has somehow captured and now holds eighteen years' worth of stories.

Next to my running medals and a beloved momento from someone who played a major role in my life, using a cupcake to define a moment seems rather insignificant. Trivial, even. You may even think, as an outsider looking in, that to associate such a small thing with such a defining moment is melodramatic.

After LA brought me a cupcake on Monday morning (which, yes, I inhaled without hesitation), I started seeing cupcakes everywhere. Cupcake-themed stationary, new cupcake bakeries, cupcake Christmas ornaments, cupcake jewelry, Cupcake brand wines...it was almost as though I was being haunted by cupcakes. Given the significance of the cupcake in that meeting (and the fact that they started to appear everywhere), I couldn't help but start to associate the damn things with breaking free from my eating disorder.

Like a medal or the locket, the sight of a cupcake will always bring me back to the moment I realized I was moving past a disorder that had once made me very sick both physically and mentally.

Six months ago, when I started working with professionals to help me overcome anorexia, I told them I would NEVER eat a treat again. Just get me to eat again...that's it. I will never be someone who indulges.

This week I've had three cupcakes, in fact. Ok, so I was wrong.

Life after The Cupcake (referring to the original post-ED cupcake that signified my departure from LA's office visits) has been wonderful. This week, while I had my moments of stress (who doesn't?), I realized I have become a slightly more relaxed version of my previous self. I can indulge, I can say no to requests and demands that overwhelm me, and I actually enjoy the slight imperfections that have started to sprout up in my life. Ever since The Cupcake, the mere time I spend thinking or obsessing over food or weight has nearly vanished. This week has been the most eating-disorder free week I have had in well over a year, and I anticipate the eating disorder taking even more of a backseat in the weeks to come.

So now it's time to transition, to focus my energy elsewhere. I will always have an eating disorder in my head; the voice has just quieted (or I have learned to tell it to fuck off...that could be too). But while it has shut up for awhile, it's time to take a deep breath, regroup, and start living again.

Here's what my life After The Cupcake is shaping up to look like (in other words, a recap of my life as it now stands...since I have neglected to write in over five days- sorry):

• I eat to fuel my body. In fact, LA and I talked last evening about the fact that I probably need to eat a LOT of food now that my marathon training is picking up...and that does not freak me out one bit. What does freak me out is dying off towards the end of training runs the way I used to. Fuel now trumps weight. Move over, ED. I have all kinds of insane athletic pursuits in my future and you are now just in the way.

• I have been officially adopted into LA's family and gained three new siblings. They were kind of thinking of letting me in anyhow, but when they got to eat some of the cupcakes I had sent LA as a thank you, I was immediately given the stamp of approval. I adored LA as my dietitian, but I like her even more as a friend. Truly stuck for life.

• I'm starting to use my personal training certification, and while I'm working lots of hours between my "real" job and my "second" job, I'm happy to be applying my love of physical activity and training to help other people. I've even been kicking around the idea of using my certification to train individuals who are overcoming eating issues and trying to regain their health and strength. We'll see what the future holds there.

• I am still working with Dr. Joe and probably will be for quite some time, only because I think it's kind of fun to mess with him and he keeps me entertained. Just kidding...that's not why. In reality (let's be honest) my life has been a bit of a mess. At least I'm realizing it in my twenties and can try to apply some damage control so the past doesn't continue to eat me alive.

• I have muscles again. My body is no longer chomping on them to try and get some energy. Bravo for that.

• I laugh. All the time. I'm happy again.

• In the last five days, while still eating really healthfully, I have had 1. chicken philly sandwich, 2. three cupcakes, and 3. a bag of Baked Lays ("health" food to most...not to me). Oh, and 4. butter.

• I have not had an episode of the excrutiating yet mysterious pain+vomiting in about three weeks. After seemingly dozens (ok, it was like four, but still) of negative test results, my doctors determined the episodes were the result of residual damage from repeated purging. Once I got better and cut out the purging, my body has (miraculously) started to heal (what a concept...should've tried it earlier). I may deal with the pain again in the future, but for now it seems to have backed off a little.

Life After the Cupcake, that defining moment that marks the start of the rest of my ED-free life, is treating me well.

Another big milestone is lingering on the horizon this week: The Compliment.

That's right. This marks the fourth week of "true" success, as defined by my ever-so-cautious therapist. Will Dr. Joe drop a compliment as he has promised? What will life after The Compliment look like? Hmmm...stay tuned.

In the meantime, may every cupcake in your future taste just a little sweeter and remind you that change is possible.

Closing a Chapter

In some of my previous posts, I have wondered how I would know if I had moved beyond the eating disorder. What would it look like? Would there ever really be an end to it, or would the obsession and behaviors haunt me for life?

Interestingly enough, my obsession with food and body image suddenly started really slipping away lately without much effort. Dr. Joe seems to think that my choice to walk away from some pretty painful family dynamics has shifted some of my anger outward, rather than inward, and he is not at all surprised I have stopped destroying myself and my life.

Who knows. I am not a psychologist and thank god at times I am not. I guess it really doesn't matter the exact cause of my recent successes, as long as they continue. He can analyze it until he's blue in the face. I suppose that is how he makes his living. In time, I'm sure I'll have it all figured out too. After all, that will probably be the key to leaving this eating disorder and other self-destruction behind for good.

I'm starting to realize I have a lot to give and a lot to accomplish. In short, I now realize I may have too much to lose.

I am shocking myself with how well I am transitioning out of my previous mindset. It is almost as though someone just now found the light switch we've been looking for all along, and didn't waste a second turning it on. I'm suddenly living again; and the life I'm living now, on the tail-end of recovery is, in many ways, even better than the one I was living before I started starving myself. I'm now stronger physically than I have been in nearly a year, I'm starting to understand who I am and what makes me tick, and have developed some extremely trusting relationships throughout this process. My goals are suddenly bigger, my confidence on its way to being restored. I've learned a lot about who in my life will check out during the rough patches, and who will stick around for the good times that exist on the other side of the mountain.

Tomorrow morning, I meet with LA for possibly my last office visit. The discussion over reaching this point was rather casual (via text message, actually). There really wasn't a big flashing "YOU'RE READY!" light that suddenly went off or some kind of finish line that I had crossed. I believe we had been texting about my recent return to normal foods, when she suddenly proposed: You know I was thinking maybe Monday would be our last office visit for awhile...how do you feel about that?

I thought about it. I was instantly apprehensive about severing the cord, moving away from a routine I have established. I have met with LA at least once a week for the last six months. Our office visits had become a mainstay in my life. I had laughed a lot there, cried at times, and overcome my fear of eating there. I have, and always will, see LA's office as a secure place where I really tackled this eating disorder. For a split second, I saw myself falling apart without having that appointment on my calendar each week.

However, I also knew LA was seeing progress that I, honestly, hadn't even been paying attention to. I've grown to trust her enough that I know she wouldn't suggest backing off on office visits unless she knew I had reached a point where I could stand on my own two feet.

I told Mama K about the fact that LA and I are thinking of backing off on the appointments after tomorrow. She simply said: "M. You've won."

For someone who loves to win, one would think I would have realized that already. But I had not.

I cannot believe I am to this point. There were so many times I honestly thought I would not get better. I felt as though this eating disorder and the physical damage resulting from it would haunt me for years and years to come. I pictured LA and I still playing with plastic food models this time next year.

Why didn't I see myself here? This point has been the goal all along. How is it possible to have been working towards a goal I couldn't really see myself?

I am ready to make tomorrow's appointment with LA  my last. Some may doubt that I'm ready or tell me what they think I should do, but in reality, LA and I are the only two who really know how far I've come and where I still need to go. Likewise, she is the only one who truly sees the significance and major successes in things like:

• Butter making an appearance in our home refrigerator again (well, ok, The Mr. also sees the significance in that...he's been missing butter for quite some time).
• Regular caramel being added to my Starbucks coffee in place of the sugar-free version.  
• Me texting her to make sure I had fueled properly before embarking on my 14-mile training run on Saturday (she probably almost fell over reading that text).
• Carelessly taking down jello shot after jello shot at a party this weekend and not worrying about the calories (yeah, she's probably the only person in my life who would find some kind of success in that).

I can't speak to the relationships other eating disorder patients develop with their support teams, but the unexpected friendship and support I have derived from working with LA over the last six months has, honestly, changed my life in many ways. It was critical, I believe, that I had someone with whom I could share completely irrational fears about foods, my urges to revert back to old patterns of thinking, and my (seemingly minor, yet very major) successes related to food. Once I learned to trust her and Dr. Joe, their unconditional support allowed me to open up and talk about the eating disorder obsessions in a way I could not with friends or others in my life. LA especially has seen it all.

She remembers me crying the first day we met because mere discussion about food was too much to handle. When I was learning to just sit with food in my system (rather than purging), she received a lot more emotional and panicked phone calls than I care to admit. I sometimes feel a huge sense of pride when I'm able to tackle a challenging "food" moment or eat something I wouldn't have touched several months ago, and in those moments (when anyone else would think I was crazy for getting so excited about "nothing"), I would email or text her to share in my sense of accomplishment. She walked me through each moment, and in the end, we've become pretty tight as a result of it.

So while the thought of ending the office visits scared me a little at first, it didn't take long to realize that I'm ready to take the next steps on my own.

I only had to think about it for a few moments before I also realized that LA will always be there, and that she's not going to just walk away. Given my lack of trust in people, that's really saying something about what she has proven to me in this process.

The stories from my LA office visits have often provided me with a basis for my posts; at times they were emotional, at other times mildly humorous despite the darker issues involved. Somehow, however, I do not think that LA will be disappearing from the blog any time soon.

She told me once "You're stuck with me, kid."

I really hope she means that. For someone who is used to keeping people at an arm's length, she is one person I wouldn't mind at all being "stuck with" in life. She's proven her support to me. I've grown to see her as a respected professional, but also as a friend and oddly enough, another genuine and caring mother figure (much like Mama K...two "mothers" now, uh-oh!). I have been told that I'm the favorite client (on the down-low, of course).

I think (and hope) that somehow makes me unforgettable.

The Brownie Question

Nearly every day for the last year, my student assistant has come into my office and we have had this routine conversation:

"Hey, M. I'm running to the Campus Center to grab food/coffee/cookie (insert her craving of the moment). Want me to bring you back a peanut butter brownie?"

There was a moment in time, pre-ED, during which I ate peanut butter brownies from the Campus Center a few times a week. I hired my student assistant just before I start really restricting my diet (about a year ago) but she has never forgotten that I, at one point in time, loved those brownies. Ironically, her Brownie Question has remained a constant throughout this year as I went down the anorexia path, and, much to my dismay, she never stopped asking that question even after receiving my "no thanks" reply (literally) hundreds of times.

At times, my thought process when presented with the Brownie Question acted almost as a measurement of my sickness. While I typically said no, there were variations of my internal response, and, looking back, they became almost indicative of my mental state. Here is a random sample:

"No, thank you." (The thought of eating that is positively revloting and I'd have to go run 20 miles to burn it off later, which I don't have the time or energy to do).

"No, thank you." (I am a robot who only consumes raw vegetables...)

"Hmmm....What did you say? Um...." (I'm not even hearing you right now...I'm about to pass out because I haven't had a meal in four days. And please get out of my office because I need to go purge the three raw carrots I just "gave in" and ate)

"Yes! I will have a peanut butter brownie!" (Because I am craving the flavor of one of those pieces of heaven so desperately, but I swear I will throw it up immediately.)

"No, thank you." (Even though my metabolism has finally come alive and I would eat a whole pan of those damn things except I don't have the mental strength to not purge them, and purging is not an option because my esophagus is mangled and destroyed from months and months of repeated vomiting.)

Today, however, when my student assistant sent me an IM stating "Hey, M., going to Campus Center, be right back", I sat and waited for the Brownie Question. It never came. And I thought to myself: Huh...I really wanted a peanut butter brownie today...what's up with that?

I genuinely wanted a peanut butter brownie today. No strings attached. No vow to purge or justifying it with this evening's workout.

The one day I finally decide I will eat a peanut butter brownie, and my student assistant does not pop the question .What the hell.

I had to laugh a little at the irony of the situation. But when I really started to think about it, it hit me just how far I have come. I really, truly, wanted that brownie. Another sign of progress, another subtle indicator that I am winning after all.

Related to winning (and given my love of sharing Dr. Joe stories), I have to recap the email exchange that occured between Dr. Joe and I today.

There have been times in the past in which I have left Dr. Joe's office in a worse depression than when I had arrived. Those days, generally, did not lead to positive outcomes, as I have a hard time just "putting it a lid on it" once we have opened up a can of emotional worms. With time, Dr. Joe has learned to wrap up my sessions with a conversation topic that tends to perk me up a bit: sports/running/competition. While the topic of choice varies slightly, we typically end up talking about running because it is of great interest to both of us.

Yesterday, Dr. Joe asked me how on earth I have been able to not only maintain, but increase my weekly mileage during the winter. I just kind of shrugged. It doesn't seem like a big deal to me that I run in the cold or snow. And Dr. Joe was, in his heyday, a far more serious runner than I currently am. Surely he had to have run through winters back in the day (ok, waaaaaay back in the day...he claims to be old, remember?).

"I don't know. I've just been running in the snow," I replied.

Dr. Joe: "Did you run last weekend?"

Me: "Yes, on trails. I was out for about three hours on Saturday." Now, here was my mistake...I got my days mixed up. I was actually teaching at the gym on Saturday, but had run trails in the snow on Sunday.

He chuckled. "Oh, well, then, Saturday wasn't too bad out."

I'm sure I looked puzzled. No...my run had, actually, been a slightly insane. I had run for three hours in the snow. On trails. In the cold. It wasn't totally extreme, but it really couldn't be described as "not too bad" by someone who apparently does not like to run in the winter.

On the way home, it hit me...Saturday's weather was nice. But I hadn't been out on Saturday. My long, snowy trail run had been on Sunday.

Ever the competitor (and always seeking out opportunities for amusing email exchanges with Dr. Joe), I couldn't have Dr. Joe thinking I believed Saturday's weather was treacherous. It was mild. Plus, Dr. Joe finds my follow-up emails entertaining. So when I got home, I emailed him the following:

Dr. Joe- I misspoke! I was out on SUNDAY not on Saturday running trails...for three hours...in the snow...See?! I'm a lot tougher than you think I am! (I had to make mention of being "tougher than he thinks I am", as the man has continued to seriously doubt my ability to run a 50K this year. While probably a psychological tactic, his doubting irks me and gets under my skin).

This email was also in an effort to passive-agressively harass Dr. Joe for being a fairweather runner and taking the winters off.

For the most part, Dr. Joe responds very quickly to me, even when the content is not therapy-related. He often jumps on an opportunity to tease me or interject one of his ridiculous quotes. But today came and went, and I did not receive a response from Dr. Joe.

A few hours ago, I decided to continue the harassment. I wrote back Aw, come on, Dr. Joe...you're not even going to humor me on that one?!

Immediately, I received a response:

Correct, M. I was not going to humor you and reinforce such behavior... (followed by a smiley face). -Dr. Joe

God love Dr. Joe. I can almost picture him shaking his head (as he often does), laughing to himself, and wondering how the hell he ended up with such a difficult client who keeps pushing the boundaries, sending him provoking emails, and talking at a pace he cannot comprehend.

I'll make sure to let you all know when I eat a peanut butter brownie. My student assistant has tomorrow off, so the next opportunity I will have to answer the Brownie Question will be on Monday...after LA and I have had cupcakes together during my regular morning appointment.

Two desserts on Monday? Hmmm...maybe.

Lightning Speed: Catch Me If You Can

Ok, I'm now passing Eating Disorder Recovery 101 with flying colors. I'm back to myself and ready to tackle just about anything (well, food-related, that is). I've branched out and consumed some turkey chili, a whole Kashi vegetable pizza, and even some freaking Wendy's.

I should mention those three things were NOT in one sitting. If they had been, I may need to be in therapy for another kind of eating disorder.

So what possessed me to eat such things? I'll set it up for you...

Wendy's was consumed while in LA's presence. She barely reacted to it, but I chowed down on a grilled chicken wrap and a baked potato with butter as she calmly talked me through other issues that have crept back into my life (related to my mother...shocking). After well over an hour of in-depth discussion and unusual dietitian-client bonding, I pointed out to her that I had just digested some fast food. "I know!" She said. "I was trying not to make a big deal out of it, but I can hardly contain myself right now!". Yeah, the woman was psyched.

The Mr., surprisingly, made the turkey chili. I didn't really question the ingredients because I was so impressed that he finally figured out that we do, in fact, have a kitchen, pots, pans, and utensils. I was previously under the impression that I was the only member of the household aware that we own such things...like a well-kept secret. I took the chili to work today and ate it for lunch, assuming it was fairly "safe" since it was made from ingredients in my own house (and trust me...there isn't much in the house of an ED person that isn't pure, healthy, and clean).

As for the Kashi pizza, that was consumed this evening with a huge glass of wine. I usually only eat half of it, but I was starving after working at the university, working at the gym, and meeting with Dr. Joe. I let my hunger dictate what to eat, and it screamed at me that leftovers were not an option. So I ate it all.

I mean, really...who the f$%k cares? Hell, I work out intensely for more hours than most people sleep in a week. I think I'll live.

Are you sensing a change in attitude here? Yeah, me too. I think I'm almost fixed. Nice work, team.

Being the take-charge kind of girl I am, I told (rather, directed) LA that she needed to call Dr. Joe and spread the good news: that I'm eating again, that I'm practically having a normal relationship with food, and that I'm basically kicking ass. Dr. Joe never seems to believe me, so I felt a LA phone call was in order.

(They sometimes do what I ask to make me feel like I'm the one calling the shots).

LA left Dr. Joe a voicemail today singing my praises. I knew about this. So I waited to see if Dr. Joe would mention the voicemail when I arrived at his office a few hours later.

"Well, hello, M.", says Dr. Joe (and I wait for him to acknowledge my amazing progress), "I had a voicemail from LA today and she said you are doing well with food."

I nodded and waited for more. He just stared at me. Was that really it? That's all I get?

Yep, that was it. What the hell does it take for this guy to realize I'm kicking this eating disorder's ass? Perhaps I need to down a dozen cookies in his presence and claim to love it. Who knows.

But I am getting closer to his four-week goal. I'll hold out until then and rely on Happy LA to keep me motivated. It's more fun to share my successes with her anyhow.

And I should probably stop messing with my therapist, although I thoroughly enjoy the humorous moments that we, at times, sprinkle into this process.

In other "messing with Dr. Joe" news...

To make a long story short, yesterday brought about some moments of extreme emotion. My mom ended up in the hospital again, probably due to her inability to manage the severity of her psychiatric illness and her serious dependence on large doses of prescription (and non-prescription) drugs and medications. Although a relationship between my mother and I can best be described as non-existent, these moments of crisis always throw me for a loop and challenge my strength and ability to stay the hell away from the situation.

In the moment of crisis, I did what I have learned to do: called and left a message for Dr. Joe. I was hoping he would just tell me what to do. Or at least help me to simmer down, as I was running high on adrenaline and ready to go tell everyone in my family (namely my mother) exactly what needed to be done (which I eventually did do...but I will spare you of the details). In the message I left for Dr. Joe, I provided two phone numbers: 1. my cell phone (which he knows) and 2. my direct work line (which he does not know).

In true Dr. Joe fashion, I received a slow-motion voicemail later on in the day. Contrary to my fast-paced, mind-on-overdrive approach to life, Dr. Joe's voicemail went a little like this (and I wish you could hear his voice in this quote):

"Hello, M. It is Dr. Joe returning your phone call. I just want to remind you that I am old. You are young and move very quickly. Therefore I cannot keep up with you and understand some of the messages you leave me. The next time that you leave me a message containing phone numbers, please make sure to articulate each number clearly and slowly so I may fully understand where you can be reached. Now that I have both numbers, I will go ahead and now try to reach you on your cell phone, which is the number with which I am more familiar. Talk to you in a minute..."

Even in my furious, wigged-out state, I just had to laugh at Dr. Joe. I often wonder if the man even has a pulse. Come on, Dr. Joe. I know you can do it...just try to keep up, just this once...

I'm sure he was clutching the arm rests on his chair, bracing himself for the tornado that is me when I finally picked up my cell phone, neglected to even say hello, and blurted out "MymomisinthehospitalandIdon'tknowwhattodoandIdon'twanttogobutfeellikeIhavetoandIwanttogotelleveryonetogotohell."

Hey, I just try to keep the guy's life interesting. And he is trying to keep me calm. I guess it is a mutually beneficial therapist-client relationship.

LA and I are going to tackle cupcakes together in our next Monday morning appointment. Since Dr. Joe refuses to get excited about my current progress, I plan to snap a picture of myself eating a cupcake and send it his way as proof that I am, in fact, kicking ass.

Obtaining a legitimate compliment from Dr. Joe is, obviously, not the main motivation behind getting well at the moment. But I have to admit, the challenge of getting it out of him is tapping right into my competitive nature and is making my efforts just that much more worthwhile.

It is possible, I suppose, that I may be talking so damn fast all the time that he isn't even sure what is going on with my food intake. He may not even know that I have an eating disorder. In fact, he may not have understood a word I've said in the last six months.

I really need to cut back on the Starbucks...

Taken Down a Notch By Dr. Joe

Holy shit, I just downed a giant sized bowl of whole wheat pasta with zucchini and tomato sauce, and I don't really care. In a matter of hours (and thanks to Dr. Joe and his psychotherapy techniques) I have suddenly become an emotional eater. The fact that I ate a bowl of pasta for dinner and don't really even mind is significant because:

• I used to (ok, still kind of do) have a rule about pasta: it can only be eaten before a race, swim meet, or very, very long training run.
• I chose to use today as a rest day and therefore did not engage in any physical activity with the exception of running back and forth to the printer at work all day long.
• I ate the pasta just before 10:00 (yes, I am just now having dinner...long day), and while LA says the whole "eating late" thing is a myth, I still kind of think she is lying about that.
• It was covered in more parmesan cheese than even a normal person would probably consume in one sitting, let alone someone who recently engaged in self-starvation.

While eating this dinner, I couldn't help but think of another time a Dr. Joe session led me to eat something outside of the norm. He is not at all aware that he has this effect on me, but would be pleased to know that his work with me often leads to eating behaviors beyond my usual restrictions.

I adore Dr. Joe. I really do. LA is always reminding me that there are reasons behind his approaches with me, and I drag my heels but believe her. Mama K says the same thing and just tells me to go with the flow (yeah, never really been a strength of mine).

Despite the recent family chaos, I was somehow able to pull it together well enough to live a pretty normal life the last few days; I am feeling extremely in control of my eating disorder, have been listening to my body's hunger cues, and focusing on building strength. I am approaching double digit days without purging. While I seem to have developed a new lack of trust in others (thank you, family, for that), I have remained focused on my own personal goals and kept those I do trust close by.

I had even said more than once (either to others or to myself): "I feel more like myself right now than I have in almost a year!". I felt it was time for a toast. A shot of tequila. A puff on a celebratory cigar (just kidding, I don't smoke). However, Dr. Joe, forever the party-pooper, took me down a few notches.

This makes Dr. Joe sound like a downer, but in reality, he is not. He's doing his job, and he is making certain I am not running from my thoughts or slipping into denial. As a result of working with me so closely over the last six months, he has fine-tuned his radar and is able to sniff out denial the second I turn my back on life's major issues.

While I hate to admit it, I did need to be reeled in. Sure, I was on cloud nine over the last few days, celebrating successes, picking up the pace in my life, and just starting to go back into the overdrive that propels my life forward. But, in reality, I had just reverted back (though on a smaller scale) to the patterns that allow me to run from my pain and fear just as I have done countless times in the past. He caught it, and while I hated being brought down a few rungs and forced to think, it is evident that he knows me well and is doing his job.

When I told him I felt my eating disorder was under control, he reminded me that four weeks without purging and/or starvation is his pre-determined benchmark for "being under control". Excellent progress, says Dr. Joe, but not under control just yet, M.

I sulked a little after that. I secretly wished he could find it in himself to express his pride the way LA, Mama K, The Mr., Dr. K, and others do. I guess they will have to continue to serve as the cheerleaders until he comes around. Two and a half weeks to go, and then and he better throw some damn encouragement my way. Until then, I will keep his "four week" benchmark in my head and work like hell to make it there and beyond.

As if his "not quite there" comment wasn't enough of a downer, he then proceeded to make me process through the events of the past weekend (read: talk about my feelings). I curled my legs under me to sit cross-legged on the sofa (which I always do there, I don't know why) and braced myself to answer his questions.

Dr. Joe knew about the weekend's happenings because I had emailed him on Sunday night. We communicate via email regularly, but mostly when something major happens in between appointments so that he is in the loop and we don't have to spend the majority of an hour appointment just catching up on the details (you'd be surprised how quickly these appointments fly by). I'm usually pretty open in this blog, but I am having a hard enough time dealing with these recent family developments during a session with my therapist, let alone on in a public forum. For that reason, I'm going to be a little vague, but here is some general background information on my upbringing:

• My mother is a very, very sick person. It is not necessarily her fault, but she has suffered from some pretty extreme mental illness throughout most of my life.
• My family has been broken apart by many tragedies, including several suicides.
• I have major abandonment/trust issues thanks to some of the events of my past.
• My strong will and extreme drive helped me break free from a pretty bad situation...and also has hard-wired me for perfectionism and, unbeknowst to me until recently, eating disorder behaviors!

For most of my life, I have questioned whether my upbringing was truly as traumatic as I felt it was, or whether my mind had blown it all out of proportion. As an adult, I have justified many of the experiences, tried to make excuses for those around me, or attempted to normalize my previous environment. I'm not sure why I did so, but I think it has to do with the fact that no one around me had ever fully understood the severity of the situation or witnessed the extreme dysfunction in its truest form.

In the midst of another bout of my mom's suicidal behaviors over the weekend, I met with my aunt on Saturday evening. We are close in age, have supported one another throughout many ups and downs in our family history, and spent a great deal of time together as part of an inseparable threesome that included my grandmother prior to her death. She currently lives about two hours from me, but had come into the area to bear witness to the auction of her brother's (my uncle's) belongings after his recent suicide death.

As a result of her pain over the recent suicide of her brother and my mother's (her sister) deteriorating mental state, she began a very open and honest conversation with me regarding my childhood. For the first time in twenty-eight years, I was given a clear, firsthand, eye-witness look at what my life was like as a kid. For the first time, I had stories and facts to go along with my feelings.

It was frightening.

I had not been wrong.

My memories, my pain, my anger...real and justified. For years I had questioned the validity of what I had seen, assuming that witnessing it all through child's eyes had somehow warped and twisted reality. But I had been right all along, and her stories painted a picture for me.

Filled in the missing colors.

Locked together the puzzle pieces I could not figure out.

Despite all of the painful moments in my life, that conversation felt like a knife in my chest. It closed me up immediately. I instantly became wary of others in my life, untrusting, and skiddish. I started to question the intentions and loyalty of those around me, even related to those uninvolved in the situation. I started to think to myself Everything I have ever wondered about the people in my life must be true. I am crazy to believe anyone cares about me. People cannot be trusted. It was too much to handle at one time, my mind unable to process all of the facets and angles involved. On Saturday night, despite the intensity of it all, I one again wrapped it up, put it on the shelf, and buried the pain deep.

In the meantime, until tonight, I just bottled up the anger. I narrowly focused my mind on producing large amounts of work in the office. I ran one of the fastest 3-mile speed workouts I have ever run while trying to release the anger and pain. I trashed my leg muscles while teaching my cycling class. I downed glass after glass of wine each night. I felt great. I felt amazing. I was on cloud nine.

Until Dr. Joe saw the reality of the situation tonight and made me talk. And thank god for that.

I am absolutely making progress, and the eating disorder is on its way to being controlled (despite the fact that I have two and a half weeks until Dr. Joe will acknowledge that). I'm still proud of the fact that I didn't immediately turn to the eating disorder to help deal with the pain. To me, that is a large success.

I am learning (and LA helps me to see this) that Dr. Joe wants me to learn to sit with the emotions. Productive, happy, functional days are not true successes if they are rooted in denial. I'm not truly "back to myself" just because I'm cranking out work and keeping a jam-packed schedule afloat...especially if those patterns are really just distractions for the anger that lies beneath the surface.

Sitting with emotions, especially the intense ones (stemming from this weekend, for example) is my least favorite part of this whole therapy gig. I would much rather dive right back into my life and push them all aside like I've done for so long. However, I'm learning that doing so offers nothing more than a band-aid, a short-term fix. Those band-aids, even over time, have not completely healed the wounds or even covered them up. Trying to overcome this eating disorder has brought me as close as I have ever been to healing these wounds long-term. I have to keep remembering that sitting with the emotions, while painful, will help all the anger and hurt to dissolve for good.

High from recent successes, I entered Dr. Joe's office today with a bit of cockiness. I've almost got this thing beat, I thought. Dr. Joe can start to clear me from his calendar because I will no longer be needing his services, thankyouverymuch.

False bravado. Wrong again. He is right. I hate that.

It appears as though pulling back the eating disorder "band-aid" has just uncovered a few more battle scars. Looks like Dr. Joe and I will be hanging out a bit longer.

And if he thinks I am going to forget his "four week" benchmark, he is dead wrong. I am not the kind of person to set a goal and leave it unfulfilled. He had better start preparing his "Nice work, kid, you did it" comments now, because I will be sure to collect them in about two and a half weeks.

I would say that, while we still have work to do, there is really no denying that the "old" me is back ;)

Is It Disordered?

I had a conversation with LA this morning that made me think...as they so often do. Hey, that's what she is paid for, I suppose.

I am really starting to make big strides in terms of getting back to a normal relationship with food and my body, which led to an interesting discussion about some of my lingering weirdness related to nutrition.

Since I've established a pretty good pattern recently of actually eating, LA decided it's time to revisit the fear food list yet again. We have never really gotten very far into the list in the past, as a short relapse, medical issue, or my own balking has halted the progress. But here we are again, talking about the fear foods, and while LA didn't come right out and say it, I sense it is time to start coming to terms with them.

The discussion over fear foods is what prompted the "is it disordered?" topic. Sure, I still carry some irrational fear over things like salad dressing, butter, pasta (unless the night before a race!). But my list of fear foods also includes things that are fried, desserts, processed foods, and most foods that I either a.) have not prepared myself or b.) cannot determine the ingredient list by looking at it. Our discussion got me thinking about the line where a lifestyle ends and an eating disorder begins. LA has asked this question before; however, I was never really in the frame of mind to engage in conversation about it until now.

With the health-concious movement in this country gaining momentum on a seemingly daily basis, many new philosophies about food and nutrition have emerged and attracted followers. It is not uncommon to talk with people who are cutting out processed foods, recreating restaurant favorites at home, or "healthifying" old-school recipes. Millions of people have added sodas, grease, high fructose corn syrup, sugar substitutes, and other "bad-for-you" choices to their own personal lists of "off-limit" foods. It has also becoming more socially acceptable to live a vegetarian or vegan-based lifestyle, and even the reasons behind these choices (morality, health, or otherwise) are questioned less and less.

As our country has shifted focus to weight-related issues and the obesity epidemic, the relationship between food and physical activity is played out in everyday life and interactions as well. As someone who works in the fitness industry- even on a part-time basis- I cannot tell you how many times I hear variations of the following:

"I'll be here (at the gym) an extra hour today to make up for all the nachos I inhaled during the game!"

"I'm not getting off this treadmill until it hits 400 calories burned!" (and very few know that the number on the screen is a complete falsification, but whatever).

"I need to do at least a hundred crunches today to get rid of this beer gut."

And even at the office:

"I needed that Hershey Kiss like I need a hole in my head."

"I'm working through lunch today, I ate enough this weekend to feed me for the week!"

"I'm taking the stairs to the fourth floor...my ass is getting larger by the minute."

On Thanksgiving morning, LA's gym was full of people sweating on the cardio machines...do you think they all came in just for fun? Sure, they may have been enjoying themselves, but let's be real here...they were there for a purpose. And that purpose was to get a workout in before stuffing their faces full of holiday faire.

It's all around...so where does the line between lifestyle and eating disorder lie?

Well, I received a "gold star" (hypothetical, of course, as LA doesn't hand out stars) for my insightful answer: when it becomes an obsession and/or interferes with life.

For me, I had crossed over onto the eating disorder side:

• When I decided a few handlfuls of raw vegetables a day (and nothing else) would be enough to sustain an 8-hour workday and 3-hour workouts...not to mention other basic daily functions.
• The first time I had even considered intentionally throwing food back up as an acceptable option to control my body's response to eating.
• When my obsession with starving kept me from engaging in social activities involving food.
• After repeatedly ignoring the signs that my body was rapidly deteriorating from starvation, lack of nutrients, and the jarring effects of purging three times a day.

It was a rapid descent into Eating Disorder Land once I stepped over the invisible line, that's for sure. Within just a year, my new "lifestyle" had taken its toll. Messed up bloodwork and labs, cracked bones, colorless skin, never-ending headaches, drying and thinning hair, involuntary vomiting when actually trying to eat something out of the ordinary. It's hard to say at what point, exactly, I crept over to the other side. But it was a dangerous first step, whatever it was.

Given the fine line between the two, however, it is difficult to determine exactly when I will be deemed "recovered". Of course, there are the obvious signs of recovery (no purging, actually eating food). However, I will probably always approach food with a critical eye, now that I have battled an eating disorder. So if I never eat a piece of fried food ever again, continue to eat only "clean" foods, and reserve desserts for special occasions only...will I still be considered to have an eating disorder? Or am I just another person trying to make health-concious choices?

I do, at times, think that experiencing an eating disorder is a little like recovering from alcoholism or other addictions...the voice continues throughout life, but is just managed a little better through the application of new coping skills. I know that, as a result of this eating disorder, I will always look at food and my own body image a little differently than most. But there will also always be plenty of perfectly "normal" people with whom I can relate on the topics of restriction, dieting, and weight conciousness...because we're all thinking about it, at least for a few minutes each day.

When you look at our society, it's almost as though we are all a little weird when it comes to our attitudes towards food and weight. So is it disordered?

(Note: I know I definitely have an eating disorder...there is no question about that. I am not looking for confirmation as to whether or not my diagnosis is correct, or to justify/criticize the following behaviors. I'm just asking for the questions to hear what others think.)

Is it disordered to...

• not eat meat?
• eliminate food groups?
• count calories?
• exercise before/after large meals in an effort to "make up for it?"
• refuse to eat processed foods?
• stick to a vegan diet?
• limit the use of butter, condiments, sauces, dressings?
• reserve certain foods for special occasions only?

What do you think? Where is the line?

And a second question...how many of you think LA should give out gold stars for insightful answers? And if I earned, let's say, five of them...wouldn't that clothing allowance be the perfect prize?

Finally Connecting the Dots

This process is changing me.

I knew it would, which is the reason I began to write a few months ago in the first place. I wanted to document this journey, capture the emotions and thoughts, and be able to read it all back at a later date and (hopefully) see signs of growth. Today, I see it.

Thanksgiving went well, despite the morning's torrential downpour. Thanks to the rain, I decided to skip out on the five-mile race (Please note: I am usually hardcore about running/racing/competing despite weather conditions, this was a tough decision). I, of course, decided that some form of exercise was a necessity in order to comply with "The Plan" for Thanksgiving, so LA snuck me into her facility (the gym where I work was closed for the holiday) to go run out five miles sans sleet and rain. We agreed to keep this secret from Dr. Joe, both got our daily cardio in, and headed in our separate directions to feast on the turkey/carb fest otherwise known as Thanksgiving.

At my father's house, I had "normal people" amounts of turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing. I stuck to the plan and even had a small piece of pumpkin roll. I ate, let it go, and focused my attention on football (always a priority of mine on Thanksgiving Day). Two days later, I'm still okay with "indulging" in that meal, and honestly, haven't really thought about it much since I took in that last bite of pumpkin roll. The whole process was, surprisigly, not as painful or anxiety-producing as I previously thought. I think I might even do it again sometime...perhaps in about twelve months or so (kidding).

It was somewhere in between the Thanksgiving meal, Black Friday shopping, and family drama that I realized my obsession with all things food/weight/calorie related is diminishing and that I am starting to just live again.

For starters, The Mr. just had to have some cliche red-and-green holiday candy around the house, so proceeded to purchase two bags of holiday M&M's while out at Target. When we returned home on Friday night (after about eight hours of shopping, mind you), he dumped the contents into one of our big, gaudy snowflake dishes and set it out on the counter like a centerpiece (that's about as far as his "holiday decorating" goes).

Throughout my workday, I hear others complain about the magnetic pull an open and visible candy dish possesses, yet I have forgotten what the subconcious candy reach feels like. However, the M&M dish on the counter has pulled me in several times since it has been placed on the countertop, and I haven't really thought twice about it. I had some long runs this weekend, went about my usual routine (which included hanging out with The Mr. and friends, of course), and didn't let food move over to the driver's seat.

While out shopping on Friday, we stopped at a Mexican place I enjoyed pre-ED and took a dinner break. I ate a chicken quesadilla with vegetables and some pico de gallo. On Saturday, I had a post-run egg and cheese bagel and coffee with running friends, some pizza while watching the OSU-Michigan game, and an overabundance of wine throughout the day. I took some chances, ate what I wanted within moderation, and I still lived to tell about it.

What a concept.

The real test will be tomorrow when I go to get ready for work...the dreaded "oh shit nothing fits!" moment (which, by the way, those moments are supposed to happen when you're trying to get healthy- but triggering nonetheless). Thankfully, I had some moments of clarity and motivation this weekend that I can attempt to tap into if/when ED decides to call me fat, lazy, or sloppy as a result of letting up on the Food Control over the last few days. My moments of clarity included:

1. Trail running in the woods on Saturday, feeling strong and wanting a powerful body in order to complete a 50K trail run (slated for Summer 2011). I want to cross that goal off my bucket list even more than becoming a parent at this current moment (no worries- I still want to be a parent...just after completing the 50K).

2. Watching football, eating pizza. A momentary return to pre-ED weekend self.

3. A glimpse of my body in the mirror, wearing a sports bra and Under Armour shorts, during which I thought Muscles are back, looking strong and tough, like I could kick someone's ass if I tapped into my God-given Irish temper. Niiiice.

4. Running ten miles under my normal pace this morning and feeling amazing doing it. A return to strength, to health. I could literally feel the change. I texted LA and told her I'd eat anything she wanted me to and would move up five sizes after that run (I hope she knows I was being sarcastic...I may eat anything she wanted me to because I do trust her; but going up five sizes may be a bit much at this point...).

5. Seeing Mama K and her husband today (in town for the holidays). It wasn't too long ago I was with them at their new house in Florida, but I've already changed a lot since the last time they saw me in person. They are like family to me, and remain a constant in my life. Knowing I am a little more together than I was the last time they saw me helped to keep me moving towards the overall goal: health.

I should also mention that theses moments of clarity and quieted eating-disordered mind were even more impressive given some of the family chaos that I was sucked into yesterday. I won't go into details, but let me just say...the world in which I grew up is not okay and continues to interfere with my adult life despite my best efforts to barricade and hunker down. In the past, I've slipped into self-destructive behaviors when the chaos ensues and it becomes too much to take ("this shit is f-ed up and I'm hurting and oh my god this is all too much to take....ooooooh, let's start counting calories and picking out my flaws instead...."). But this time around, I somehow kept my mind off the pain while simultaneously maintaining the laxed attitude about food. Huge success in my book. Dots are connecting all over the damn place.

I've said it before and will say it again tonight in this post...these moments happen: good and bad. However, this holiday weekend was, by comparison, a long stretch of positive attitude and a relaxed approach to food/body/weight- worth a few touchdowns at least. And to continue on with Dr. Joe's football references, the fact that I maintained this attitude throughout a major food-heavy holiday (probably the most food-heavy of the holidays) is like a successful two-point conversion, an added bonus. The family garbage of yesterday has got to earn me at least a field goal or two.

Scratch that...the fact that I stayed semi-grounded during the family garbage is worth another touchdown. Hands down.

I'm not really sure who I am competing against here (Dr. Joe?), but I think I'm up at the moment. Connecting the dots, seeing the patterns, running interference and studying the X's and O's...it's starting to make a little more sense.

Game Day: Thanksgiving and the Blitz

Ok, so here we are, on the eve of a major eating holiday. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, the day on which overstuffing and overindulging are the cornerstones of this American holiday. Perhaps my senses are simply more alert this year, given the food-driven life I currently lead, but I am picking up a lot more "it's a day to get fat!" chatter this year than ever before. A local radio station was talking to listeners about their average Thanksgiving caloric intake (fast fact: did you know the average American will have a 3,000 calorie meal on Thanksgiving?), and I heard a student today tell a friend she always wears sweat pants to her family dinner to accomodate the bulge she will develop throughout the course of the day. It's actually fascinating to listen to people prepare for the traditional holiday face-stuffing as though it were an Olympic sport.

I, like most others, find the American tradition of gluttonous Thanksgiving feasts to be humorous. We can never do anything in moderation, now can we?

The Mr. and I handle the food piece of major holidays differently. He, like many others, skips breakfast and intends to eat one and only one meal: a massive, balls-to-the-walls, stuff-me-until-I-explode plate of food. He then skips dinner and probably breakfast the next day, too. He somehow draws energy from that one meal for days before his metabolism finally limps back to normalcy and becomes ready for processing yet again.

In my previous life (pre-eating disorder), I approached the meal as just that: a meal. I still ate my regular breakfast, kept the holiday feast to a slightly larger version of a normal meal, and ate another dinner later on to round out the day. I never really stuffed myself into a food coma, rather, kept to a regular schedule. I'm not sure why I took that approach, exactly, except that I have never liked the feeling of being extremely full, even before the onset of my eating disorder.

I left LA's office about an hour ago, where she prepped me for my first recovery Thanksgiving as though I will be going off to war. A "high-risk situation" she called it...I would have to agree. I've been thinking about how to approach the day and the meal all week, and was thankful to see her the night before so we could talk it through. Plus, thanks to a work commitment on Monday morning (when I usually meet with LA), I hadn't seen her for ten days and told her I had forgotten what she looked like. It was definitely time to check in.

LA started off by asking me where my anxiety about tomorrow's meal comes from, and I started to list off the usual fears:

• Social pressure to eat more than usual (this time would be from family who are not aware of my eating disorder), or be subjected to the "you don't eat enough and are far too skinny" comments.
• Not knowing the ingredient list behind every food on the table, therefore wondering whether or not I'm eating something that breaks my completely irrational set of self-imposed "rules".
• Eating too much and wanting to purge, therefore probably inducing the pain and additional vomiting I've been experiencing (oh yeah, we're finding there is a link between the two...did I mention that?).

Just after I listed these usual fears (all of which she has heard from me before), the real reason for the fear hit me. While the fears listed above are always present, I realized my anxiety about managing Thanksgiving is slightly different...

It used to be my favorite meal. It's stacked with my favorite foods...all of which I now avoid. I realized that Thanksgiving is different than other celebrations, parties, and holidays. I really want to enjoy it, given that mashed potatoes, stuffing, and any dessert involving pumpkin would all be included in my hypothetical "last meal" request.

Okay, so you are thinking You love all these foods and are running a 5-mile race a few hours before the meal...what is the problem here? Go ahead and enjoy for once...

The problem is that I still carry the black and white thinking that helped me to eat as little as possible during my sickest period. When in starvation/restriction mode, I stayed the hell away from any foods that I loved because they presented a risk of overeating. As someone in the throes of anorexia, I had trained myself to ignore hunger and cravings. Food, when actually consumed, was kept to a minimal amount and only used to keep me from passing out. That was it. Given how hungry I was back then, I knew that even just one bite of something I had previously loved would have led to an out of control "binge" (again...relative term...I was never one to actually "binge" by most people's standards). Back then, I viewed a binge as a failure, given that my ultimate goal was to exist on as little food as possible. Overeating was the ultimate sign of weakness.

So now I'm eating again, quite regularly in fact. But when dealing with an eating disorder, the brain is a little slower to catch up. It's one thing to treat the physical symptoms, to rebuild metabolism and restore weight. It's another, more difficult challenge to retrain the mindset that drove the eating disorder in the first place.

What I realized with LA tonight is that my biggest fear about Thanksgiving is this:

• I love the foods involved.
• If I eat just a little of each, I will want more- especially since I have deprived myself.
• If I take more, I will not be able to stop.
• If I am not able to stop, I will binge.
• If I sense that I have binged, I will purge.
• Conclusion (and reason for the fear) = Staying away from the foods I once loved ensures this cycle will never begin in the first place.

I am convinced that if I eat it at all, I will not be able to stop. All or nothing. Black or white.

So LA and I developed a game plan, which I intend to stick to because, well, I am not one to back down when faced with a challenge. The game plan is this:

1. Take a regular sized plate and fill it will small amounts of what I want.
2. Sit with The Mr. and eat slowly while engaging in conversation (this will require The Mr.'s cooperation).
3. Sip wine while eating (uh, yeah, that is not usually a problem).
4. Make sure The Mr. is on board with "running interference" (LA's exact words), which includes making sure I do not go back for more than what is on the plate (therefore leading to guilt about "bingeing" later on).
5. Immediately distract after eating...watching football, going for a quick walk, go talk to a relative are all acceptable options.
6. Try as best I can to move on, forget about the meal, and continue with the rest of my life.
7. Use the workouts, runs, and training I have planned for the long weekend as motivation to continue to fuel and resist purging. (The exercise bulimia part of my eating disorder is much more under control, and these now act as the "carrots" dangling in front of me to keep me eating properly and maintaining strength. The professionals know this approach works for me, as long as I do not exceed Dr. Joe's "hours per week" exercise limit).

So we have a Thanksgiving game plan, LA and I. I'll stick to it and make us both proud.

As for Dr. Joe, he has also jumped on the "game plan" bandwagon this week with another one of his ever-amusing treatment approaches. True to his Psychologist-Slash-Athlete swagger, Dr. Joe has somehow mashed two very unrelated topics together to create a new therapy approach: body image and...football.

Yes, football. And body image. You read that correctly.

I thought Dr. Joe's eyes lit up when he used to drop the "Just Do It" Nike reference back in the day...but that was nothing compared to the sheer joy the man seemed to experience while relating my poor body image to gridiron plays. I sensed that he had been saving this therapy approach for years, just waiting for the perfect eating disordered female football fan to walk through the door and soak up his blitz approach to body image. I made his day by being that patient.

Body Image According to Dr. Joe:

The setting: Imagine Dr. Joe sitting on the edge of his seat like my old volleyball coach used to, excited beyond belief to share this with me.

Dr. Joe: "Ok, M. All the messages that run through your head related to your body and eating are like the blitz. What happens when the quarterback doesn't properly read the blitz?"

Me: "He is sacked."

Dr. Joe (beaming with pride that I can follow along with this game reference): "Right! It means the quarterback didn't see what was coming, and didn't pick the right play. He should have dumped the ball, ran for the first down, or switched direction. Instead, he is left picking himself off the ground and wondering what signs he missed. Your eating disorder voice is like the blitz. If you start to starve or purge, you just got sacked. You misread the blitz or used the wrong play."

Me: "Okay. I get it."

Dr. Joe: "And you can't scramble! Just avoid the quarterback scramble...because sometimes it will work, but other times it won't and you'll be dusting off the dirt wondering how the hell you just got sacked. Reading the blitz and applying the right play is the best way to stay on your feet."

In that moment, I stopped thinking about my eating disorder and really just wanted to talk to Dr. Joe about the NFL. But I tried to refocus. Blitz = negative messages. Sack = reverting to eating disorder. Read the blitz, don't scramble, pick the right play. Got it.

Our "talk" stuck with me. But I laughed the whole way home imagining Dr. Joe trying to use his passionate football approach with a room full of female adolescent eating disorder patients staring at him blankly wondering why the hell the man is talking in a foreign language.

This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for the therapist and dietitian who have gotten to know me so well that they can tap into what makes me tick and use it to help me get better. Game plans, sports, running, blitzes, quarterback references, sacks...hey, I don't know of anybody else on the planet who could bring this eating disorder therapy down to my level quite like these two.

Happy Thanksgiving, all.

Proposing a New Treatment Strategy

Today, I had a brilliant idea while sitting in LA's office.

Those working with treatment teams to overcome eating issues should be provided with a clothing allowance.

Think about it. Sure, I'm thrown into emotional distress when I gain a couple pounds. Yeah, it makes me want to stop eating for about a month (I'm being sarcastic...clearly that would not go unnoticed by the professionals), and a fear of fat is obviously at the root of many of my issues. But further on down the list, the stress of purchasing new clothes yet again is another negative side effect of getting healthy.

Don't get me wrong...I want to be healthy. I do. That is the top priority, and if it were not, I would not spend large chunks of my week with a dietitian, psychologist, and physicians (I mean, they are great and all, but...). I will get healthy, I will listen and do what I should do to regain some of the healthy weight I lost. I will kick and scream and drag my heels a little at times, but deep down I know I cannot fight it and need to just accept it.

I will not let the fact that I will need to buy new clothes stand in the way of my health. It's minor, and I hope you sense my sarcasm and humor in writing this. But, seriously, refeeding would be a lot more pleasant if I had a fashion-related goal to motivate me. People trying to lose weight are motivated by all the cute clothes they can wear if/when they achieve their goal weight. Hell, the contestants on the Biggest Loser even get full-on makeovers after they transform themselves (lucky bastards...although I guess they deserve it). And what do us recovering eating disorder patients get? To watch our waistlines expand, to agonize over favorite clothing that refuses to stretch over our "healthy" new bodies, to "hold off" on buying clothing because we never really know what the hell we are going to look like when it's all said and done.

If LA, Dr. Joe, and Dr. K all contributed to a refeeding fashion fund for me, it would prod me along a little in the process. Perhaps I wouldn't kick and scream about going up a size if I knew I could tap into the little trust fund they lovingly set up on my behalf rather than forking over my own cash for new clothes.

I'm just saying.

I actually proposed this new idea to LA this morning, who didn't exactly say no, but deferred the question to Dr. Joe. Given that Dr. Joe's salary is probably higher than LA's, I should have probably started there first anyhow. Silly me.

Dr. Joe said the clothing allowance was a fine idea, that he didn't really care either way. Except that the reason he didn't really care was that he would not be footing the bill for any of it. I think he missed the point.

Back to LA. I texted her after the Dr. Joe appointment. She said sure, that she would just include me in her kids' clothing budget. Sweet. She agreed to it, and I have the text to prove it.

(Ok, I realize she was probably kidding, but we all know emotion cannot be expressed in text, so I'm taking the answer for what it is: an affirmative "Absolutely, M. You're my favorite client and I'd love to set aside some money for you to enjoy the experience of purchasing new clothes...").

While out shopping this evening, I came across a fabulous pewter-colored handbag. As is a long-standing tradition when I find something amazing at a store, I snapped a picture and sent it to Mama K for her to provide her opinion. She said it was a must-have, that I needed it, and to just go ahead and bill LA.

I told her I didn't think accessories would count as acceptable use of the refeeding fashion fund, but perhaps I can spin it somehow.

In other news, I had a nuclear test on my gallbladder this morning at the local hospital. The test itself was rather painless (well, except for the IV...I have never gotten used to them and they still make me queasy), but did last over two hours. Mostly I slept while the technician tried to get my gallbladder to act up and replicate the pain I've been experiencing during those recent I-am-certain-I-am-dying attacks. She succeeded; I felt some pain.  I'll hopefully have the results from GI Guy in a few days and we'll proceed from there.

I saw Dr. Joe after LA today, and we had a little chat about all kinds of things: the fact that I purged three times this week (that was not fun to talk about, I kind of stared at the floor while he freaked out a little), my marathon training (even he thinks I'm insane to train for one throughout the midwestern winter...I'll probably agree with him in, oh, about a month or so), my body dysmorphia, and what I've been eating as of late (I absolutely hate verbalizing my daily food intake for some reason, and I wish he'd just read it off a notebook like LA does). I was (jokingly) scolded for rolling my eyes several times during the appointment. I assured Dr. Joe the eye-roll is reserved only for those with whom I feel comfortable enough to be myself. He should take it as a compliment, really.

I will probably need to dedicate an upcoming post to the positives about Dr. Joe. I actually do adore the man, despite the fact that I am constantly harassing him (unbeknownst to him) via this blog. It's just the kind of client-therapist relationship we have: filled with lots of banter that would probably be considered disrespectful except that we both can take it as well as we can dish it out.

All in all, today was a needed opportunity to slow down a bit and reconnect with the people who have been helping me all along. It's time to get back on track and keep moving in the right direction.

After all, new clothing awaits... :)

Mind Games

I have to accept that, thanks to my eating disorder, the world appears slightly warped. The problem is that it is often difficult to discern which parts are warped and which are, in fact, reality.

In our everyday interactions with each other, food-related topics are commonplace. Health and nutrition "advice" is everywhere, comments about weight and food are casually flung into conversation, and we all rely on social cues to help us determine what's "normal" and what is not. To a "normal" person, this information is naturally edited- some of it stays, some of it goes, it does not necessarily dictate the course of the day or provoke a significant change in behavior. To someone fighting off an eating disorder, these pieces and parts of daily life create a dangerous minefield of self-doubt, internal questioning, and often negative response.

Before I start to pour this out onto a post, please understand that I do not believe the world needs to change for me just because I struggle with an eating disorder. The fact that it is a "disorder" implies that I am not like the rest of you, and it is my job to process the world in a way that is not warped and triggering. I need to learn to cope within a world that includes comments, conversations, and advice about nutrition, food, and weight; those things will always exist.

What prompted me to write about this was a comment that I received yesterday while at a family party. Keep in mind that there is not a single member of either of our families who is aware that I struggle with an eating disorder, so this provides the perfect example of the perfectly innocent, everyday commentary that has the ability to rock an ED patient to the core.

The Mr. and I attended his mother's 60th birthday party yesterday knowing that we would be going out to dinner to celebrate our belated anniversary later on in the evening. I had already planned to eat a small amount of food at the party so I wouldn't experience guilt about eating a nice dinner later on (that didn't exactly work out the way I had planned).

At the party, I ate a six-inch turkey sub on wheat bread from the sandwich platter. I had a few handfuls of raw vegetables, some fresh fruit, and a very small portion of the whole-grain Greek pasta salad I had brought to the party. At this point, that is about all I can handle, and I felt okay about the quantity and choices I had made. I opted to not eat cake despite the ever-present "Why isn't M. eating cake?!?!" chatter among the group, stayed away from the desserts I knew would bring on the urge to restrict later or purge.

Several hours later when we went to leave, a family member said to me "You're going to still go out to a nice dinner after that big lunch we just had?! How are you going to have room for that?"

Cue eating-disorder panic. Oh my god. She is right. That is totally not normal. I am a fat, gluttonous pig to come to a party, eat what I did, and then still go out to an anniversary dinner with my husband.

That comment, while completely innocent, stuck with me like glue for the rest of the day. By the time we sat down to dinner at a nice restaurant, I was already in a major eating disorder state of mind. I ate my dinner, determined to enjoy it and not let the eating disorder get in the way of a nice night out. But by the time we arrived at another bar for drinks and dessert, I purged in the bathroom without even thinking twice about it. I didn't even process through it enough to text LA beforehand. It was almost automatic, the voice in my head telling me I had overeaten, that it was not normal to eat at a birthday party and then a dinner out, that I had done something very, very wrong.

Since we had chosen to go to the second bar for drinks and dessert, I went ahead and ordered a small slice of maple walnut cheesecake and ate it slowly, trying to ignore the guilt and just enjoy it. I wanted to just start over and forget about dinner. But while eating dessert, I thought to myself: As if it weren't already bad enough that you ate a GIANT lunch at the party, INDULGED in a HUGE dinner...now you have to go and toss dessert in there too, you fat slob. And think of the wine and all the hidden calories in there too. You are out of control. You are disgusting, have no discipline whatsoever, and do not get to just eat whatever you want, whenever you want.

Without a second thought, I made another trip to the bathroom. I felt horrible about it. I should be able to just enjoy a nice anniversary dinner with my husband. And more importantly, I should have texted LA before purging a second time.

These moments happen every day when you are struggling with this disorder: a comment. A look. Someone else obsessing over their own weight or diet. No one is to blame for these triggers. It's our problem. It's our job to figure out how to rewire our brains.

I can remember a similar situation during which I sensed I had overeaten at a lunch date with friends. I had scanned the plates of the others at table (which I regularly do) and noticed that no one else at the table had eaten everything on their plate (mine was just salad with grilled chicken, but I still ate all of it). I immediately felt as though I had done something wrong. How many times have we all heard that we should never eat an entire entree at a restaurant? I began beating myself up for being so ravenous, uncontrolled, and undisciplined. I can't remember for sure, but I must have purged or restricted after that meal because I recall the following conversation taking place in LA's office shortly after that lunch:

Me: "I should not have eaten that entire salad. No one else ate their entire lunch."

LA: "Why do you feel badly about it? There was nothing bad in that."

Me: "Because I should have only eaten half of it. That's what you're supposed to do at restaurants."

LA: (long pause, shocked look on her face) "Wait...why on earth would you think that applies to you?! You are not overweight and you ran ten miles that morning. There is no such thing as portion control in your life!"

And that, my friends, was the day I realized the world I live in (as someone with an eating disorder) was warped. All of the "advice" I had ever absorbed about food had become so jumbled in my head that I was unable to apply it correctly to my own life. That was the day LA told me I needed to throw out everything I had ever heard about nutrition and begin to follow her lead.

In hindsight, I should have applied the knowledge I've gained throughout this process to yesterday's "You're still going to eat dinner?!" comment. Had I done so, I would have realized that:

1. The person who made the comment probably did not even see what I had eaten and therefore had no idea that I didn't eat as big of a lunch as everyone else.
2. The person who made the comment eats like a bird, so even if she had seen what I ate, it probably would have seemed like a lot from her perspective.
3. The person who made the comment had no way of knowing that I had run a pretty fast ten miles just hours before, and what I did eat was nowhere close to even making up for the energy lost on that run.
4. Like LA tells me all the time...I am not a normal person. I am an athlete. So I need to eat a lot more than the average person and IT'S OK.

But, naturally, I listened to the loud, obnoxious eating disorder and followed it right down the path to self-destruction.

That seems to be the case in general this week: the eating disorder has been loud and obnoxious, and the LA/Dr. Joe/Dr. K rational messages are getting lost somehow.

While I have struggled a great deal over the last several days, I do not consider this past week to have been a relapse. In my mind (and I think in the minds of my team, although we've never really talked about it), a relapse would be a full-blown return to not eating and/or throwing up whatever small amounts of food I do decide to give in and eat. If I returned to something resembling that pattern, then I would consider to be relapsed (and probably sent into inpatient treatment somewhere...no one is going to put up with that for very long now that I'm working with people to correct this).

I did, however, purge three times this week, which is a little alarming, especially in light of the fact that some of the medical issues from previous restrict/purge cycles still linger. I seem to have lost the sense of control I gained while on leave and working with my team regularly. I'm trying to find it again.

When talking to Dr. Joe, LA, and Dr. K, it all seems so clear...so empowering. I often leave their offices feeling strong, rational, and equipped with the strategies necessary to ward off the eating disorder when it creeps up. But somehow, in the moment (or prompted by a simple trigger or comment), their wise voices still get pushed back more often than I would like.

At least the mistakes are fewer and further between than they once were. Eventually, they will go away completely, and I'll be able to exist in this food/weight/body-obsessed world without latching on to the innocent comments and conversations that lead me down paths to dangerous territories.

Prior to the incidents this week, I had gone over three weeks without skipping a meal or purging. When studying to become a personal trainer, I learned that it takes twenty one days before a new behavior becomes habit. The healthy new habits didn't permanently stick this time, but the fact that I experienced over twenty one successful days helps to keep me believing in progress.

Day 7 Intensive: The Gray Area of Recovery

(You may be wondering what happened to Day 6 Intensive...that was yesterday. While I met with LA, I was then put under for the endoscopy and don't remember much after that; hence, the gaping hole in my blog).

So I pick up at Day 7. Today was a casual treatment day compared to the last week or so, as I was not double-teamed by doctors or running from office to office. I slept in (much needed considering I was up until 5:00 AM with the pain of a lifetime), took my car in for an oil change to make the message on the dashboard go away (why else would I get an oil change?), made a pit stop at Target (yes, there is a Starbucks in Target...stopped there too), and found myself on Dr. Joe's sofa around 3:00 PM.

At Dr. Joe's, the topic of the hour was the upcoming return to work. Two weeks ago, when my supervisor offered me two weeks leave, I balked. Two weeks away from the office had seemed like eternity, given my full-throttle approach to career and, well, life in general. The decision to step away, focus on myself, and get serious about recovering my body and mind was not an easy one to make. I had initially internalized a leave from work as yet another failure in this battle, a sign that I couldn't tackle this while keeping all the other balls in the air as well as I thought I could.

Now, with the two weeks coming to an end, the thought of returning to work induces a mixture of relief and panic. I keep trying to put my finger on what is causing the anxiety about returning to my "real life", and Dr. Joe helped me to poinpoint it today. I mentioned it in my Group Therapy Experiment post a few days ago: I seem to have settled into the Gray Area of Recovery, a fragile state of safety.

I've arrived at the Gray Area thanks to the two weeks off. It's the in between stage; the point at which I am no longer critically sick, but not really fully recovered either. It's a delicate place to be. It's the stage where those around me begin to see signs of progress on the outside in the form of regular eating, maybe adding a few pounds (god, I hope not too many!), balanced mood, a few more smiles and the return of laughter. But inside, things are (and will continue to be) a bit of a mess, and there is a lot of work that lies ahead.

In the last two weeks, I have built a very comfortable support system around me and could count on very regular (daily, in some cases) contact with LA and Dr. Joe, who together serve as the unconditional foundation that holds me together. LA and I even joked today that we have probably fallen into some kind of client-nutritionist interdependence, as not meeting today seemed a little strange to both of us. While on leave, it has been a relief to know that I only need to get through mere hours on my own, as opposed to going a week in between appointments. The upcoming return to weekly meetings leaves me feeling nervously independent again. While I know they are only a phone call or email away, I also know that I still struggle to reach out when I really need it for fear of winning the #1 Neediest Client of All Time award (I'm sure I'm on the short list of finalists at this point).

Also anxiety-producing is the (perhaps unfounded) belief that I will be expected to hit the ground running when I return from leave...and in all areas of my life. I, in many ways, feel as though we have just begun the recovery process; however, I worry that even the most supportive people in my life will assume the time off has restored me back to normal. Sure, I'm eating full meals again. But it still takes a lot of mental strength to do so. And will I be ready to go out and nonchalantly binge on junk food with my friends any time soon? I may never be, in all honesty. Have I fully "cheered up" and been broken free from the deep, self-hating depression that haunted me early on in recovery? No. I've grown used to having the time to rest my body, or to stay up late to fight off pain knowing I can sleep it off in the morning. There is still lot of garbage that needs to be cleaned up after this storm, and two weeks is just not enough time to do it all. I was broken...very broken. It'll take time to glue me back together. We've only just begun.

I fear my first big task back at work will break the delicate confidence that has been restored over the last two weeks. I fear the first sign of weight gain will throw me back into the cycle I've just escaped, and that I'll allow my pride to stand in the way of asking for help. I fear that I will challenge myself with foods and not be able to handle it. Most of all, I fear I will be left alone in this fight once I have convinced everyone around me I am "better." I fear relapses, and having to rebuild my life again and again and again.

I fear breaking again.

Dr. Joe said today that he is confident I will always land on my feet, that I am just that kind of person who will always find my way out of a bad situation. I hope he knows me well enough by now to be right.

I did speak to my boss today and the plan, as of now, is to return back to work next Wednesday. This means extending the leave by two additional days, but I think it's what I need to wrap up the work I've been doing with my team and transition slowly back into the rest of my life. I want to make sure I am really ready to go back and face stress again, and that the slightest breeze will not blow away the seeds we've just planted (that was a Dr. Joe shout-out right there...he uses the "seed" reference quite often).

Even though Dr. Joe was hard on me earlier in the week, it's not a persona he is able to maintain given that it is so far from his natural demeanor. Today, the nurturing, supportive therapist I have come to know and trust was back, and the quote he left me with today was "Hey, M. We're not going to let you go back scared and unprepared."

So how to handle the Gray Area? I'm still not entirely sure. At some point, life has to go on, whether I am ready for it or not. Let's face it: the world has continued to move along without me over the last two weeks as I exited to the left. In about a week, it will be time to hop back on. It will never really be the same; I'm not the same person I was when I began this process and I will continue to change as I grow stronger and more confident in myself.

The Gray Area, though I do not yet know how to handle it, is a better place to be than at the very beginning (which would probably be known as the Black Area?). I do not even really remember much about the Black Area, but LA reminded me recently. Starving, malnourished, and weak, I was difficult to converse with, teared up at the sight of food, and severely depressed. If being in the Gray Area means I have moved beyond those dark days, I'll take it.

Day 5 Intensive: Group Therapy Experiment

(Long post this evening...my apologies in advance! Today was packed with all kinds of recovery goodness.)

During a recent moment of temporary insanity, I happened to mention to Dr. Joe that I wanted to search for an eating disorder support group in my area. Well, as you can imagine, both Dr. Joe and LA latched on to this idea like dogs on bones, so I've been receiving some subtle "encouragement" to attend one this evening at a local eating disorder outpatient clinic.

I do not consider myself a "group therapy" kind of person (if there even is such a thing). I have always had it in my mind, perhaps unfounded, that my situation is somehow unique. Well, let's face it: it is not. There are millions of people out there struggling with various eating disorders, and while our individual situations differ, there are some underlying issues most of us struggle with universally. We might as well bond over them while lounging on some fluffy pillows.

Starbucks coffee has suddenly become my security blanket this past week (I don't drink it regularly, yet keep randomly finding myself in their drive-thru on my way to therapy and nutrition appointments), so I feel the gravitational pull towards the white and green sign on my way to the support group. I wonder for a moment if a latte is illegal contraband in the eating disorder support group world. I decide I don't care and that I will just own my role as the support group Bad Influence right from the start.

On the way to the clinic, I try to "have an open mind" (since Mama K had just texted me that motherly advice several minutes before). I try to really think about why I have self-indentified as a Group Therapy Hater, and here's what I came up with:

1. I am certain I will be the largest one in the room (have YOU ever been in a room full of anorexics and felt skinny? Just sayin'...).

2. I read on the clinic's website that group members are not permitted to talk about specific urges or behaviors while in the group setting. I'm not sure how I will be able to relate to the others if I'm not allowed to speak of the behaviors and patterns that got me to this point in the first place.

3. I'm not convinced that other eating disordered individuals are the best friend choices for me right now. Imagine two recovering anorexics going out to dinner together. The mind reels, does it not? I imagine calling another ED girl and telling her "I am tempted to skip eating all together today" and hearing the not-so-healthy response: "Oooh! Me too!". Supportive, yes. The kind of support I need? Probably not. And the last thing I need is to be supporting someone else through their own struggles when my own recovery is still spotty at best.

Despite the lack of signage at the eating disorder clinic, there is no mistaking that I have arrived at the right place. A skeletal girl several years younger than me is slouching on a sofa, arms crossed and looking severely depressed. Another girl with a head of unruly brown curls is sitting on a large pillow on the floor, wearing a pair of ripped Express jeans that I instantly decide I want. To my surprise, a thirty-something man wearing athletic gear is sitting in an armchair. Two other women greet me with smiles. It is somehow immediately evident to me that they are counselors and not patients, though I can't quite put my finger on it. Perhaps it is indeed their bright smiles; they appear too happy to be battling such a draining disorder.

I take a seat next to Skeleton Girl, gripping my Starbucks cup tightly and praying no one makes me throw it away. Cute Jeans Girl takes a swig out of her own Starbucks cup just as I catch her eye. I smile at her, and she smiles back with instant understanding. Coffee appears to be acceptable in ED support group. I guess they are just happy we are putting anything at all into our bodies.

When the clock hits 6:30, Counselor A starts by asking everyone to share their name and a little about themselves. Cute Jeans Girl is clearly a regular, as the counselors joke around with her and ask her about recent developments in her life. When it comes to me, I say the words I never thought I would say to a group of people, forming my introduction from the cues I picked up from the others: "Hi. I'm M. I'm about three months into recovery from anorexia and working independently with a treatment team. I'm still in the beginning stages of refeeding and just took a two-week leave of absence from my job as a college administrator to do some intensive work with my team".

Cute Jeans Girl smiles at me again and says "You are so lucky you got to take a leave. I had to resign from my job to do six weeks in an inpatient program." I nod, knowingly. But in reality, her statement scares me to death. Could that have been me? Certainly I would have never let myself drop to that point...

In both of my jobs (as a college administrator and fitness instructor), I have been trained to build community. I am used to being in the leadership role within a group such as this; typically I am the one asking the questions, facilitating the conversation, seeing to it that the participants are engaging in conversation. When Counselor B's (who we later find out in an intern) opening question is met with awkward silence from the group, I forget where I am and automatically take my routine position as the first to speak.

When I finish providing my input on the "gray area" of recovery (I will blog about this another time...it's a topic I've been wanting to write about soon), Cute Jeans Girl is nodding, wide-eyed.

"Oh my gosh, I can so relate to that. That is my situation exactly." As she piggy-backs on my response, I decide I like her and that we totally get each other. I make a mental note to befriend Cute Jeans Girl after the meeting is over. Perhaps we can start hanging out at Starbucks together before these ridiculous meetings.

Cute Jeans Girl and I monopolized tonight's support group, sharing stories and relating well to one another in between taking sips from our matching Starbucks cups. Counselors A and B were soaking us up, enthusiastically throwing ideas and support our way. When a moment of silence finally crept up, Guy In Fitness Gear randomly stood up from the armchair and asked "Can I leave now and come back another time? My anxiety is really kicking up here."

I saw a flash of confusion on Counselor B's face, but she quickly recovered. "Certainly," she says. "You are welcome to leave at any time. We hope you return."

He bolts for the door. I suddenly remember why group therapy freaks me out.

Cute Jeans Girl and I stare silently at the floor, probably both wondering if we had set off the crazy guy's anxiety button with our conversational tennis match. Counselor A comes to the rescue by asking Skeleton Girl how she is feeling, pointing out that she has been very quiet this evening. Skeleton Girl says she is depressed, has no motivation, and keeps spiraling into the same cycle of starvation. She feels extreme guilt, and makes mention of the fact that she is a high-achiever in all other areas of her life, aside from tackling this disorder.

I can relate. I tell her about the frustration I used to experience when Dr. Joe and LA would give me such huge pats on the back for achievements that seemed so trivial compared to others in my life. For years I received positive feedback for things like earning a Master's degree, receiving a promotion early in my career, succeeding in athletics, winning prestigious awards. When the positive feedback was suddenly tied to such minute tasks as eating a meal or going a day without purging, I felt my life had been reduced down to such insignificance that it was not worth the effort I was putting into it.

I'm not sure what it was, but something I said resonated with Skeleton Girl. She finally looked up from her lap and gave me a half-hearted smile. So that's what group therapy is all about. Suddenly, I understood.

After an hour and a half of eating disorder talk, I was more than ready to jump off the couch when Counselor A decided to wrap things up. I had already been in to see both Dr. Joe and LA earlier in the day, and I had officially reached my therapy threshold. I tossed my coffee cup in the trash and bolted out the door. As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I realized I had left without exchaging information with Cute Jeans Girl (a potential new friend! I love those!). I pulled back into the parking lot, but she had already left. I instantly regretted not talking to her after the meeting.

Shit. I guess this means I will have to come back and attend another one.

So the Group Therapy Experiment was ok. I will rate it an even-keel five on a scale of one to ten. On the way home, I went over the conversations in my head. I did get some positive reinforcement and ideas from the counselors and other group members, even though Cute Jeans Girl and I hijacked the conversation. While I prefer my individual sessions with Dr. Joe and LA, I decide to file the support group away as a potential tool for the future. I don't think I will ever become a card-carrying devotee, but it may provide a good sofa to sit on when times get really tough or I feel the need to bitch about the latest ED-inspired challenge.

As for my other appointments today, they can best be described as "eh". I was not really in a mood to talk a lot after an ED episode last night, and Dr. Joe had decided to really pull out the big guns and "get serious" with me today. This was followed up with a body image/ body distortion conversation in LA's office, during which I outright denied my body dysmorphia and explained that I still think everyone is lying to me about how skinny I am. Over the entire weekend, I squinted to see what others are seeing, but just couldn't. I guess it really doesn't matter, as I've been told again and again to just trust the team, but I still slip back into this thinking from time to time and have to be pulled back into the boat.

Both appointments were followed up with phone calls, which is never a good sign. About an hour after leaving LA's office I had to call her after a "binge" (again, relative term...) in my kitchen. I had come home from both appointments emotionally drained and slightly hungry, which led me to rip through the refrigerator and cabinets in search of anything my body craved. I had downed a few flaxseed tortilla chips, a string cheese, some hummus, and a small container of caramel Greek yogurt and was instantly filled with enormous guilt.

About an hour after that, Dr. Joe called and we had a follow-up conversation about our earlier appointment. He had told me during the appointment that he can tell I am struggling despite working hard at recovery, and that he thinks I may be in a little bit of denial about the potential severity of the current medical situation. I tearfully told him this made me feel like I am failing despite my efforts. He corrected me by saying (in his calm and soothing voice) that there is a difference between struggling and failing, and that I am in no way failing or letting him down. This was music to my perfectionist ears, and gave me the motivation to keep fighting.

As for tomorrow, it's Scope Day. Procedure will be at 3:00 tomorrow, and I will be out cold for the rest of the day. I'll spare you the incoherent thoughts and stay the hell away from the laptop until the drugs have worn off.

Wish me luck...